


By any other name

by anamia



Series: The daemon!jolras AU [10]
Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-05 12:19:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1818253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anamia/pseuds/anamia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the difficulties of friendship, leadership, and having conspicuous daemons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By any other name

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt by tumblr user pilferingapples: "Daemonverse AU? Issues of Acting Secretly When Daemons Are A Visible Thing? (It occurs to me that some people are going to be have an easier time of this than others-- Bossuet's oyster can be easily hidden, lions and giant birds not so much...)"
> 
> This is the first fic in this 'verse that really deals with the fact that I dumped Combeferre into a leadership role. It's also (finally) the return of the titular character.

"Bahorel, I appreciate your eagerness to risk life and limb for our cause, and you know I don’t doubt your sincerity, but you are singularly unsuited to missions of stealth. Even if you were able to tone down your personality and disguise your face enough to pass for a stranger, Nolwenn cannot change her feathers and you would be discovered in an instant."

Combeferre crossed his arms over his chest and waited for Bahorel to see reason. Instead, Bahorel mimicked his position back at him and said, “She can roll in soot and imitate a raven,” he declared. “We are, both of us, well versed in secrecy and deceit.”

"And you are, both of you, invaluable to our society and impossible to replace should you be arrested or deported," Combeferre returned. "I understand that this is your contact, but you are too valuable to risk when we have others who could much more easily disguise their identities."

Bahorel scowled. “There is no progress without risk,” he said. “And you know I am the best person to send. Would you rather run the chance of him refusing to speak to an unfamiliar face entirely instead of trusting that we are more than capable of evading any policeman who happens to catch our trail? Need I remind you that Nolwenn and I have been playing this game since before Enjolras settled? We know how to keep ourselves to the shadows and we can navigate the rooftops and alleys as well as any gamin or assassin. We are not _amateurs_ , Combeferre, no matter how much you insist on treating us as such.”

"What you are is foolhardy," Combeferre snapped, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. "And pig-headed. We will send myself or Jean Prouvaire, as our dæmons are small enough to conceal when needed."

"A man without a dæmon is far more visible than a man with a dæmon that might resemble the dæmon of another," Bahorel said, his voice rising along with his temper. "You are the only man in Paris to habitually conceal your dæmon’s form, and while I know why you do it, you must realize that it makes you stand out far more than I ever could, even with my waistcoats and Nolwenn’s plumage." He glared at Combeferre, who glared right back.

"So you are determined to risk your safety and our secrecy, are you?"

"I am determined to not let the effort all of us have put into making this meeting a reality go to waste," Bahorel snapped. "And that is what I shall do, whether or not you approve. Good _day_ , Combeferre.” He turned on his heels and stormed out, Nolwenn flapping before him so that he could slam the door closed without waiting for her to clear it. The bang it made echoed through the room and Combeferre sank to a seat, removing his glasses and scrubbing a hand across his face.

"He’s right."

Enjolras’ quiet voice in Combeferre’s ear made him sigh, shoulders slumping so far that Enjolras had to grab onto a piece of his hair to keep from falling to the floor. Neither reacted to the sharp stab of pain this action generated, both well accustomed to it.

"You too?" Combeferre asked, not lifting his head. "I thought you of all people would see my perspective on this."

"I do," Enjolras assured him. "And you’re not wrong to be concerned. But he is right too — they have far more experience in this than we do and if he says they can meet with his contact without being discovered I think we should believe him."

"It’s on our head if it goes wrong," Combeferre said. "I can’t… I am not able to take that responsibility."

"It’s on their own head," Enjolras corrected. He leaned against Combeferre’s neck, one hand still wrapped in his hair, his breath warm against Combeferre’s skin. "They are adults and able to take responsibility for their own actions. If it were Grantaire I would say you were right to be concerned, but Bahorel I trust to speak the truth about his abilities."

Combeferre sighed again, closing his eyes and resting his head on his palms. “Was I too harsh with him?”

"Yes," Enjolras said, honest as ever. "But he will forgive you."

"And if I could ever have talked him out of making this meeting I have now ruined all my chances," Combeferre said. Enjolras did not reply, the answer being as obvious to him as it was to Combeferre. For a long moment they sat there, Combeferre slumped in his chair and Enjolras pressed against him.

Finally Combeferre raised his head and returned his glasses to their proper place. “The least we can do is make sure that he does not risk his life and liberty for nothing,” he said. “Bossuet dropped off those reports from Lyon yesterday, and we will need to know where they stand in order to coordinate our people most effectively.”

Enjolras let go of Combeferre’s hair and clambered down his shirt to settle in his waistcoat pocket as Combeferre rose and went to his desk. He unlocked the false bottom of the largest drawer and withdrew the documents, spreading them out on the desk. Enjolras climbed back out of his pocket and ran down his extended arm to get a closer look as Combeferre lit two candles. Faces screwed up into identical expressions of concentration, man and dæmon set to reading and consolidating the reports, talking quietly as they distilled the information contained within into something their society could readily use.

*

A week later Bahorel stepped into the back room of the Musain well after midnight, red faced and panting but triumphant. Nolwenn, still liberally coated in soot, hopped off his closed fist to crow triumphantly, her wings scattering particles of soot across the whole room. Bahorel threw himself into a chair and pulled out a triangular handkerchief to wipe his face, a reckless grin lighting up his features. As Grantaire called for wine and Courfeyrac demanded details, Bahorel looked over and caught Combeferre’s eye. Combeferre inclined his head in silent apology and Bahorel’s grin grew.

As Grantaire’s wine arrived, Combeferre left his pamphlets spread across the corner table and moved to sit nearer the rest of the group, settling himself into an available chair as Bahorel sprawled back in his chair and began his report.


End file.
